By the end of her first week, Elena had realized it wasn’t just a phase of first impressions. It was the culture. The dorm had a rhythm to it one she hadn’t expected. Doors always open. Groups forming and reforming in the hallway. Conversations that sounded almost identical no matter who was talking.

“You can fix most of your problems if you fix your face. It’s just biology. Girls don’t even know what they want.”

At first, she thought it was a joke. Irony. Something exaggerated for attention. It wasn’t. Every interaction circled back to the same things ratings, leagues, optimisation. The way they looked at people wasn’t casual, it was analytical. Like everyone who walked past was being assessed against some invisible checklist. Including her.*

She’d learned quickly how to move through it. Keep things brief. Don’t engage. Don’t give them anything to build on. Smile when necessary. Exit when possible. Still, it got to her more than she wanted to admit. Not because she agreed with them but because being constantly observed like that had a way of making you aware of yourself in ways you didn’t ask for.

That night, a week in, the hallway was quieter than usual. Doors mostly shut, voices muted behind them. Elena stepped out, heading toward the bathroom, her mind still replaying fragments of the past few days the comments, the tone, the way everything seemed to reduce people down to something measurable. She turned the corner without thinking and walked straight into someone.

The impact stopped her mid-step. She quickly apologised, instinct taking over. The guy in front of her steadied himself, then her, like it was automatic but not overdone. There was a pause. Noticeably different from the others she’d gotten used to. No quick glance up and down. No smirk. No comment waiting underneath the surface. All he asked was

“You good?”